Evaluations, Explanations and Expectations
by luli27
Summary: Tag #5 After his talk to Morgan, Hotch goes home and finds Emily waiting for him. The ensuing conversation, brings up a few outstanding issues and clears them up. In the midst of it, the cooking competition heats up and brings out Hotch's lawyer-ly side.


**Evaluations, Explanations and Expectations **

**Disclaimers: **Nope, still not mine - even if I can't quite stop myself from thinking about them all day and plan new plans and exciting twists for them.

**A/N: **I'm sorry I wasn't able to post this last week like I'd been doing but it took me a little longer to finish it and with Thanksgiving, my beta didn't really have the time to beta it. But here it is! A little earlier than the normal and it's a big one too - almost twice as normal so hopefully, it'll make up a bit for the delay. This is set right after the events of 'Cradle to Grave' and it has a little bit of everything. It was fun to write and, next to Break Me out, might be my favorite so far. That being said, I did thought about scrapping it or at least part of it after watching '100'. That was an amazing episode and Thomas Gibson was . . . well, amazing and the way Hotch reacted, God, it made me teared me. But since I'd written this before the episode and it had ended up being more declaratory than I'd planned, I seriously thought about whether I should post it or not, since as you know, I want to keep it as close to cannon as I can. In the end, I just went back and discovered I had the perfect place to add some lines that would, if not foreshadow, Hotch's reaction then at least pave the way for it - in any case, it should hopefully, make this story fit in with the events of '100'. Well, I think that's it. Hope you enjoy it! And please, let me know what you think!!

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Emily put down the magazine she'd been flipping through without really reading when she heard the key turning in the lock, the sound she'd been waiting for, for the last couple of hours. She tossed the magazine onto the coffee table without a second thought and stood up, turning towards the door as she did so.

"Hey," she said when Aaron walked in.

"Hi," he called back as he closed and locked the door. She looked at him intently, trying to work out how he was doing as he walked further into the apartment and set his briefcase down by the table in the entry way, threw his keys on it and started to loosen his tie.

"So," she began as she walked closer to where he was standing, "how did it go?"

"Well," he answered as he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the arm of the chair next the entryway table. She knew him well enough by then to know that he was taking the time to get his thoughts, and himself, together. "He didn't want to take it; he wanted me to fight Strauss – said he and the rest of the team would go to the mat for me."

"He was right," she nodded. "We would all be 100 percent behind you."

"I know that," he said softly. "I do know that and I appreciate it but . . ."

"But you don't want to fight it," she said in a resigned tone of voice, "you don't think they're entirely wrong and you don't want to fight it."

"Emily," he sighed; they've been having this discussion since he told her he'd decided to step down so that the team could stay together. "These decisions have their own momentum, you know that; fighting wouldn't accomplish anything except prolonging this – AND in the end, everyone would get reassigned and the team would be no more. Do you want that?"

"No, of course not," she shook her head. "But I also don't want you to step down as team leader. You're our leader, Hotch," she insisted. "You _made_ this team, you should lead it. And Strauss is a fool as well as a witch for making you do this."

"I don't think it's just Strauss that. . ." he started to argue but she didn't let him finish the thought.

"Of course it's her!!" Emily exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Who else has it in for you at the Bureau but her? No one else is dumb enough to mess with a formula that gets results; and that's just why she wants you out: because you get results and that can get in the way of her going up the ranks – God, I hate politics," she added shaking her head.

"I know," he nodded. "I don't exactly love it myself, you know?"

"No," she agreed, "but you know how to play it."

"So do you," he pointed out.

"If I have to," she grudgingly admitted. "I guess that's the legacy of being born into my family . . . or yours for that matter."

"Yeah," he nodded again and Emily could see how worn out he was. He might be sure stepping down as team leader and promoting Morgan was the right thing to do but that didn't mean it had been an easy thing for him to do; given the type of man he was, she could only imagine how hard it had been and her harping on how he shouldn't have done it was not only not helping him but was probably making things worse.

"I bet you haven't had dinner yet, have you?" she asked him as she turned towards the kitchen. She might not be able to do anything about Strauss or him stepping down but she could do something to make him feel better or if not better then at least help him relax a little and be more comfortable. "So, what else did Morgan say?" she asked, because she knew he wasn't going to be able to relax at all until he talked about it. Whether he knew it or not, he needed to talk about it, needed to get it all out so that he could deal with it.

"He finally accepted it," he told her as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. "But he told me it would be temporary only; that as soon as we catch Foyet, things would go back to normal."

"Doesn't surprise me," she nodded as she got the plates down from the cabinet.

"Apparently, he thinks the same as you," he commented with a small smile.

"What?" she asked. "That Strauss is a witch?" She left the plates on the counter and turned to the pots on the stove.

"No," he answered and then paused and reconsidered. "Well, he might, though I'm sure he'd used a stronger word."

"Oh, I'm sure," Emily agreed with a small laugh.

"What I meant was," he went back to his original point, "that he too thinks I should be team leader."

"Of course he does," she agreed. "Why wouldn't he? You're a great team leader; he might not always agree with you but he respects you, Hotch, and though he might never say it, he admires you too." She'd told him all this a week ago but it bear repeating.

"You might be right," he said, thinking of how hard Morgan had argued to not take the job; somehow, despite what Emily had told him last week, he'd thought Morgan would have been, if not eager, then not reluctant to take it.

"Besides," Emily added, busy with what she was doing she hadn't noticed Hotch's momentary preoccupation, "he already passed when they offered him Unit Chief in New York; he wants to be here, on this team – he wants to be on _your_ team. If he wanted to be Chief, he would already be Chief."

"He said that too," Hotch admitted.

"See," Emily pointed out as she threw him a grin over her shoulder, "I know what I'm talking about and I have a pretty good handle on Morgan."

"You do at that," he conceded but there was something in his tone of voice that had her looking at him over her shoulder again. When she saw the far off look on his face, she frowned. Talking was supposed to help make him feel better but if his face was any indication, it wasn't working. She wondered briefly if maybe there was something else bothering him and then she decided that the only way to know was to ask.

"How are you doing?" she asked softly, half-turning her body towards him and keeping the serving spoon in one hand.

"What?" he asked, bringing his eyes back from where he'd been studying the counter top, up to hers. "Oh, I'm fine – just fine."

"Aaron," she said softly again but this time there was something approaching a reprimand in her tone and her eyes had that look that said she knew he wasn't being completely honest. He sighed, pushed away from the counter and re-crossed his arms before he answered.

"What do you want me to say, Emily?" He asked in an irritated tone and she could see his hands fisting next to his biceps. "That having to step down from being unit chief and promoting Morgan instead was not on my top-ten list of favorite things to do? That it was actually on my top ten list of least favorite things to do? Or maybe that not only don't I have a clue about where my son is sleeping these days but I've just lost the job that was the biggest reason for the break up of our family so that now I don't have either one - I don't get the weekends with him and don't I have the job to distract me from what a failure . . ." he trailed off, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A few moments later, he recovered his composure enough to say, "I'm sorry, Emily. I didn't mean to dump all that on you."

"I'm glad you did," she said quietly. "It obviously must have been weighing heavily on your mind or it wouldn't have come out like that."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But you shouldn't have to put up with my ranting and hearing about my issues all the time."

"That's what I'm here for," she told him. "I want to hear all your ranting and all about your issues. That's what friends are for," she told him. "I know that you would do the same for me if the situation was the other way around."

"Of course," he nodded.

"Then there's no need to apologize," she said firmly. "Or I'll feel the need to apologize the next time I feel like ranting." He smiled at that but it was half-hearted at best. "I am sorry you're going through all of this Hotch. I know how hard it must have been to decide to step down and to offer Morgan your job."

"Yes, well," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Hard or not, it was something that had to be done and it's done now, so we can move on. Hopefully, we'll catch Foyet soon and things will go back to normal – whatever the heck 'normal' is."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Still, it's just not right; it really isn't fair," she added as she turned back to the face the stove.

"Life's not always fair, Emily," he told her. "I know there's been very little 'fair' in my life for the last couple of years and in the last few months, it's been practically non-existent."

"I know, Aaron," she turned her head to give him a small smile. "And I'm very sorry you've had to go through so much."

"Not your fault," he shrugged. "Besides, I said 'practically non-existent' there have been a thing or two that have been more than fair." He smiled at her and she smiled back before she turned back to the food.

In the small silence that followed, she thought back to what he had said about losing the job that cost him his family and she wondered if it had occurred to him that while he hadn't been willing to give up the job for his marriage, he had willingly given it up to keep the team together – of course, Hailey had wanted him to give up the BAU altogether but the point stood. She rather hoped it hadn't and that it wouldn't because she was pretty sure that realization would do nothing to raise his spirits. And, as much as she didn't want to, she couldn't help but wonder what that little fact said about the state of the Hotchner's marriage. Thankfully, he started talking again, stopping her from going any further down that road.

"I really want you to know how much I appreciate everything you've done for me, Emily," he said.

"It's nothing you wouldn't do for me, Hotch," she reminded him even as she kept stirring the food.

"Yeah," he sighed and hesitated for a moment before he spoke again. "As much as I appreciate everything you've done for me – especially letting me stay in your home, I think maybe it's time for me to look for a place of my own."

Since Hotch was not a man who hesitated before speaking unless he knew that what he was going to say would not be well received _and_ he cared enough about the person to care about her reaction, Emily had known she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear the moment she'd detected his hesitation. And yet, his words had taken her completely by surprise; she didn't know what she'd been expecting but it hadn't been that – not at all.

The shock froze her a few moments with the serving spoon in hand halted in mid-stir. She tried to speak but, though her mouth moved, no sound came out and her head bobbed up and down a few times before she finally got control of herself again.

"Oh," she said softly as she finished stirring, tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot and set it down on the side. She leaned forward and turned the heat down to low; only then, did she turn to face him once again, every movement careful, precise and much slower than usual. They both knew that she was buying time to get her act back together but, just as she hadn't said anything when he took his time taking his jacket off, he didn't say anything now. "Do you have a place in mind?" she asked as she leaned back and gripped the countertop in a grip so tight, her knuckles turned white.

"No," he shook his head. "I haven't really even thought about it."

"Oh," she said again and nodded. She turned to look along the length of the apartment and out the window for a moment before she took a deep breath and said, "You don't have to go; the apartment is more than big enough for the both of us and. . . I . . . . I'm enjoying the company."

"I know," he nodded.

"Have I done something that's . . .?" she trailed off even as she inwardly flinched. She couldn't even finish the sentence; she wasn't that kind of woman. She knew men left sometimes and it had nothing to do with anything she'd done or hadn't done. She was a strong woman and not some weakling that needed reassurance she hadn't offended his fragile masculine ego. If he wanted to go, he was well within his rights to do so. She certainly wouldn't beg him to stay – no matter how much she'd just realized she was going to miss him.

"No, of course not," he was saying, shaking his head adamantly.

"I guess you just want your space then, huh?" she tried to smile but knew it didn't even come close to reaching her eyes. "I hope you know you can stay here until you find another place because I really don't think moving back to your old one is a good idea. Though, of course if you want to leave immediately . . ."

Hotch had been shaking his head and trying to speak, but she was speaking so fast he couldn't get a word in until she trailed off once again.

"I don't _want_ to move, Emily," he was finally able to tell her and had her looking at him in surprise.

"Then why did you bring it up?" she asked slowly, tilting her head to the side in surprised confusion. "If you don't want to move and I don't want you to move, why are we even talking about this?"

"Hasn't it occurred to you that you might have become a target for Foyet?" he asked her in a tight voice. And when she just looked at him blankly, he explained, "Emily, by moving here I might as well have painted a big bull's eye on your back. It'll probably be best all around if I just left. The last thing I want is to have Foyet come after you too."

"Why would he?" she asked, frowning as she tried to follow his logic. "He hasn't gone after anyone else on the team – just you."

"Exactly," he nodded. "He's gone after me and my family."

"But I'm not your family," she protested.

"Neither is Hailey," he countered. "Not technically, not anymore."

"Maybe not but she's still the mother of your son," she pointed out. "She's your ex-wife, Hotch; the woman you lived with for what? twenty years? She's who you've spent the better part of your life with. That kind of bond can never really be completely broken; divorced or not, she'll always own a piece of you. Technically or not, she'll always be your family and you'll always worry and care about her. You might not be in love with her anymore, you might not even wish things were what they once were, but you'll always love her. Foyet knows that because he knows you."

"Okay that might be true," he admitted. "But while Hailey is my ex-wife, you're the woman I'm sharing an apartment with now," he reminded her. "Foyet could very well take it to mean that we're more than colleagues and good friends."

"But how would he even know you're staying with me? No one does, not even the team," she wanted to know. But he didn't need to answer; she understood what he was thinking from the look on his face. "You think he's been monitoring you."

"I think it's very probable," he agreed.

"How probable?" she pressed.

"Very," he repeated. "I can't be certain he is but according to the profile, it's more than likely he is." He'd spent hours pouring over the case files and he still couldn't be sure one way or the other much to his everlasting and mounting frustration, which was why he hadn't said anything before but the worry had been nagging him at the back of his mind and he could no longer ignore the possibility.

"Why do you have to move if you're not even certain he's watching?" she asked.

"Do you want to take the chance?" he asked her, incredulously. "Do you know what this man is capable of?"

"Of course I do, Aaron," she answered. "I just don't think . . ." but he didn't let her finish.

"No, I don't think you do," he cut her off, "Because if you did, you wouldn't even consider taking the risk. I had to send Jack away, Emily; I have no idea where he is but I had to send him away because that monster was after him and I couldn't live with myself if something were to happen to him because of me. Do you think I would be any less affected if something were to happen to _you_ because of me?"

"Nothing is going to happen to me," she assured him and walked towards him.

"You don't know that," he snapped at her as he started to pace along the hallway.

"Aaron, I understand sending Jack and Hailey away to keep them safe," she tried to reason with him. "They're civilians and need to be protected; but I'm an FBI agent – I'm the one that _does_ the protecting."

"Don't tell me you're an agent, Emily," his voice was like a whip. "I'm one too and I'm stronger than you, a crack shot and, I might not be an expert like Morgan, but I'm darn good at hand to hand."

"Morgan's not that much better than you," she said wryly. "I've seen you bring him down more than a few times."

"And yet," he told her, coming to stop right in front of her. "Foyet still took me down in my own home; he stabbed me nine times and the only reason he didn't finish me off was because he wanted me to suffer and he knew I'd rather be dead than live to see the people I care for hurt. Don't ask me to stand by and leave you in that kind of danger. I don't know what I'd do if he . . ." he trailed off and swallowed heavily.

"Aaron," she said softly and cradled his cheek in her palm. It was a more intimate touch that she'd ever given him but the situation called for it and, oddly, it didn't feel weird at all. "Nothing's going to happen to me," she said again and laid a finger across his lips when he opened them to protest. "Shush, I understand you're worried about me being a target. And I grant that you have good reasons to worry but," she raised an eyebrow and pressed her finger against his lips, with more pressure, when he tried to talk, "you're not really thinking this through."

"Of course I am!" he protested around her finger.

"No, you're not," she shook her head. "If you were, you'd have realized that you moving won't accomplish anything. If, and it is a big if, Foyet's monitoring you, then he already knows you've been living here for awhile. Will it really change anything if you moved out? I mean, if you've stayed here all this time then he's already assuming we're . . . close and you moving out won't change that; if he's decided to come after me to hurt you, he's going to do so whether you move out or not. If you move out, I'll be alone and while I _can_ take care of myself," she pointed out as she lifted her fingers from his mouth, "I would rather not face him alone but if you stay, I wouldn't have to. If you stay, there will be another gun around and we could watch each other's back. There's a reason we're not supposed to go into an unknown situation without backup, Hotch. And that's because two people have a better chance of getting out of a dangerous situation alive than one alone."

"That's true," he grudgingly admitted.

"And if he hasn't being watching you so far," she added, "he's not going to start now. So, what would be the point in leaving either way? If he's watching you, you need to stay and help protect me," she was far from being a damsel in distress but if appealing to his chivalrous nature helped her cause, she was going to do it, "and if he's not, why bother?"

"Emily," he closed his eyes for a minute. When he opened them again they were bright with an intensity of emotion she hadn't seen that clearly before and that made something warm and fuzzy spread throughout her chest even as it threatened to bring tears to her eyes. "I'm not sure what I would do if he got to you. I don't think I could stand it if anything ever happened to you but . . . I think I would lose it if you're hurt by his hands."

"He's not going to get to me," she told him firmly. She had no intention of getting herself killed; she was not leaving Hotch alone with a burden like that – she wasn't giving Foyet the satisfaction. Not to mention that it would seriously screw up her plans for the future – plans that, to her delight, now most definitely included Hotch.

He closed his eyes and sighed in resignation before he gave a tight nod and opened them again. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes and, though she didn't think it was possible, his eyes were even more intense than a few moments ago.

"You have to promise me," he told her in a tone of voice that meant business, "that you're going to be careful."

"I promise I'll be very, super, uber careful," she promised, nodding. His lips twitched a little at the way she promised before they tightened again.

"And you have to promise," he continued, trying to get assurances, "that you'll lock your door every time you come in and go out and that you'll arm the alarm right after that." She had nodded along until he mentioned the alarm.

"Wait a minute, what alarm?" she asked, frowning. "I don't have an alarm."

"The one I'm having installed as soon as possible," he informed her in a firm and definite tone of voice.

She thought about objecting for a couple of seconds but changed her mind before she even opened her mouth. If Hotch, one of the strongest, most able men she knew, could be taken down by Foyet, she wasn't going to be so egotistical and arrogant to think it couldn't happen to her.

"Okay," she nodded. "I promise to always lock the door behind me and turn on the alarm right after – whether I'm coming in or going out."

"And you won't leave the BAU and come home by yourself," he added.

"Well," she hedged, "that'll depend on you leaving the office at a reasonable time and coming home with me." Neither one realized just how easily they were both referring to her apartment as their home.

"You know I have a lot of paperwork," he began, "and I can't always leave the office on time."

"But you're not Unit chief anymore," she argued. "You won't have as much paperwork to get done now – not anymore than I or Reid do; and we always manage to leave on time, well, most of the time, anyway."

"You might be right," he said and she noticed he wasn't really agreeing with her. "But you never know when I might need to stay behind; maybe we could ask one of the junior agents to accompany you . . ."

"But how would we explain my needing an escort?" she asked. "Foyet's not supposed to be after anyone but you . . ."

"Or those I care about," he interrupted her.

"Yes," she nodded, "but as far as the FBI is concerned we're nothing more than team members and friends and he's not after any of the other members of the team. I don't really think it's the best idea to let them know that we've grown closer, do you? At least not yet."

"No, you're right," he shook his head. "Now's not the time. We could ask Dave," he suggested. "He knows something's changed but he won't ask any questions." Again, she thought about protesting but then she thought of how worried he looked and of how he would feel if something were to happen to her so she decided that having one of the two men driving her from work wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to her.

"Fine," she nodded. "I'll wait for one of you guys before coming home. And," she added before he could come up with more promises for her to make, "you'll come with me whenever I have any errands to run." If he was with her most of the time, he could make sure she was safe AND she could be there to watch his back and make sure he was safe too.

"But . . ." he started to protest but she just raised one of her eyebrows and looked at him steadily and he sighed and gave in. "Fine, we'll run our errands together."

"Good," she nodded and smiled. "Glad that's settled; now, why don't you run upstairs and change? The food will be ready by the time you're done."

"Okay," he agreed. He'd been wearing the suit for close to twelve hours, it'll be nice to get out of it. "I'll be right back," he told her and picked up his suit jacket before walking for the stairs and his room.

As she watched him go, she realized once again how much she was going to miss him when he decided to really move out. For someone that had lived alone all of her adult life, she'd gotten used to having him around in an amazingly short time and rather painlessly. Knowing there was going to be someone when she went home at night or that she could be going home with someone just made everything seem . . . nicer and that ache of loneliness she'd learned to live with had slowly but steadily grown smaller and smaller so that she barely felt it now.

The best thing about him being there was that she no longer had to eat alone, which meant that she was skipping less and less meals and that she was taking the time to enjoy the food again instead of rushing through meal time as if it was another chore she had to get done. Having someone else to cook for had made cooking a pleasure again and their competition had given it an edge they both enjoyed.

Before, breakfast had been a rushed cup of coffee as she ran out the door and dinner had more often than not been a nuked frozen dinner or take out eaten standing up, but now they both consisted of elaborate and creative concoctions as they tried to out do each other. Dinner and breakfast had now become something she actually looked forward to; and it wasn't just because of the good food, she just simply enjoyed sitting down with him as they went over their plans for the day or discussed what had happened that day. What made her enjoy them even more was the fact that despite Hotch's penchant for being in the office before anyone else and staying until after everyone had gone, he had somehow managed to be home for almost every meal since he moved in – and the fact that she had taken to getting up a little earlier and having dinner a little later didn't change the fact that he was there when he didn't really have to be.

Those quite moments when it was just the two of them with no outside interferences or pressures had really become her favorite part of any day. Thankfully, they weren't confined to meal time because, despite the fact that with their jobs they rarely had much free time, what free time they had they now inevitably spent together. And, suddenly, even the most mundane, uninspiring activity had started to feel like the most exciting and exhilarating time, simply because she was now sharing it with him. So, sitting around in the living room after dinner or on quiet weekend evenings as they read or one read and the other watched TV (and hadn't she been surprised when it turned out that he liked the sports channel and could get as involved in a game as the next man?) had quickly become her second most favorite part of the day – and that was only because Hotch and food was a combination that couldn't be beat. Well, that and the fact that Hotch never lacked for things to say when they were sitting at the dining room table. That wasn't to say that she didn't enjoy the silent moments they spent together; she enjoyed them more than she had enjoyed almost any date she could think of!

And yeah, she knew just how far gone she was when the idea of spending a quiet evening a home was more appealing than a night out. But, what could she do? She was in love with the man and these weeks sharing the same living space had only deepened that love. She'd known it was the real deal and not an infatuation when not even one of his 'quirks' had done anything to diminish him in her eyes – and God knew the man had more than a few of those! And she knew most of them by now because she was in love not blind.

She remembered reading somewhere that you knew you loved someone when you saw them for who they really were and still wanted to spend time with them. That was just how she felt about Aaron Hotchner and she was going to be in a world of hurt when he left. She wasn't sure why she hadn't realized that until that moment but she hadn't; maybe she'd been in denial and hadn't wanted to acknowledge that he was going to have to move out eventually. For good or bad, denial was now a thing of the past and she was going to have to deal with the pain of his leaving. But not now; now she was going to enjoy having him there. She'd deal with the pain of his departure when he left and if a little voice in the back of her mind kept trying to say he didn't have to leave, she was going to ignore it.

"You hadn't eaten?" he asked her and jolted her back to the present. She had been so preoccupied she hadn't noticed he had come back down.

"No," she shook her head and finished serving her plate, "I was waiting for you."

"But it's late," he protested as he got busy setting the table. "You shouldn't have waited."

"I had a big lunch," she shrugged. "I wasn't really hungry before; though, if you had taken much longer, I'd have gone on ahead without you." He nodded and opened the fridge to get the drinks out.

"Beer or juice?" he asked, looking at her over his shoulder as he leaned on the opened door.

"Apple juice, please," she answered as she put the plates on the table.

"Here you go," he said as he put her glass down and sat down. "This smells really good," he added as he looked at his plate. "But what is it?"

"It's called 'seco de carne'," she answered, grinning at his surprise. "It's basically a beef stew."

"Why is it green?" he wanted to know.

"Because the base is made with cilantro," she explained. "It's usually served with beans but I think they're kind of heavy for this time of night so I just added potatoes to it."

"And rice," he added.

"Yes," she nodded. "But that's because most Peruvian dishes are served with rice."

"So, this is Peruvian," he surmised, starting to eat.

"Yep," she answered. And, following his lead, started to eat. "So?" she asked when he'd had a couple of bites. "What do you think?"

"It's good," he admitted. "Very good. But, just so you know," he added, pointing his fork at her, "this does not count towards the competition."

"What? Why not?" she cried out.

"Because," he answered patiently, "It is not a valid entry; foreign dishes do not count."

"Who says?" she promptly demanded, looking more than a little put out. She had been looking forward to the points the new dish was supposed to get her.

"The rules of engagement," was the simple and matter of fact answer.

"What rules of engagement?" she asked. "We don't have any rules of engagement," she denied.

"Of course we do," he insisted. "We're having a contest and every contest needs rules – ergo, we, too, need and, in fact, have rules."

"Ok, okay," she conceded. "We need rules; but what is this about having them? Just what are they? And when did I agree to them?"

"We agreed to them the night we decided to have the contest," he reminded her as he continued to calmly enjoy his dinner, not the least bit perturbed by the argument.

"The night . . ." she said as she frowned, trying to remember. She vaguely recalled something about him mentioning the do's and don'ts. "Okay," she again conceded, "there might have been something said about rules that night. But I don't remember there having been _any_ mention of foreign dishes," she argued.

"Exactly," he nodded and looked at her like she was a student that had finally gotten a, particularly easy, question right.

"What do you mean exactly?" she asked, exasperated, and thinking that this need to argue was definitely one of his most annoying 'quirks'.

"I mean," he patiently explained, "that we never said anything about allowing foreign dishes into the contest. Therefore, they are not admissible; we didn't set up any mechanism to decide how they would count. You can't just decide one day to make a dish that is not covered by the rules and expect it to count like any other, old dish. That's not how it works; the rules are there for a reason and we have to follow them."

"But that's not fair," she protested. "This wasn't exactly an easy dish to make, you know? It should definitely count."

"I'm sorry," he shrugged, not sounding all that sorry. "If you wanted it to count, you should have mentioned it that night or at any time before now, really."

"But just because it's not mentioned is not a good enough reason for it not count," she insisted.

"Of course it is," he countered. "There is no set way how to judge it," he repeated. "Besides, we set the rules that night; you can't just change it whenever you want. To do that, you'd have to, at least, talk to me about it. Otherwise, you'd be arbitrarily, changing the rules by yourself and _that_ wouldn't be fair, would it?" She looked at him in surprise, wondering how the heck he'd managed to turn the argument so that she was the one in the wrong.

"You know," she mused, looking at him with wide eyes. "Sometimes I forget; you're so normal most of the time that sometimes I really forget all about it."

"Forget what exactly?" he asked cautiously.

"That you're not only a profiler," she told him, "but also a lawyer. That at one time, you made your living arguing and, if I'm not mistaken, you actually enjoyed it, not just lively discussions, but real, honest to God arguments. I bet you especially liked wining them."

"I did go to law school," he noted. "And I did enjoy the heck out of it," he admitted with a grin. "And yes, I especially liked wining them – otherwise, what's the point?"

"There wouldn't be much of one, I guess," she shrugged.

"Still, this is a very good dish," he told her, going back to his dinner. And she got the distinct impression it was a consolation prize.

"Never mind that it doesn't count," she pouted.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged. "I can't do anything about that."

'Can't do anything about it?' she thought. 'He's the one that just made it so!' But she decided to hold her tongue; she knew arguing wouldn't change the outcome – he not only liked to argue, he was also beyond stubborn. There was something else she wanted to talk about, at any rate.

"I've been thinking," she commented a few moments later. "There is a bright side to your stepping down."

"Really?" he asked, wondering if she had had the same thought he'd had.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Like I said earlier, now that you're not in charge, you won't have as much paperwork to get through. And you won't be responsible for keeping everything running smoothly or remembering to keep all the balls in the air. All of that is now Morgan's headache."

"Yeah," he nodded. "I definitely won't be missing the paperwork."

"There really won't be any reason for you to be staying behind all the time," she pointed out once more; although he hadn't been really doing that too much lately. "You'll have a lot more free time to relax and just be without having to worry about everything all the time."

"There is that," he nodded. "More free time is just what I've always wanted." The words were right but the tone was all wrong, Emily thought. She looked at him searchingly and suddenly wondered if maybe one of the reasons he'd decided to step down was to have more time to devote to his compulsive study of Foyet's file. She opened her mouth to mention it but decided not to at the last moment. If it hadn't occurred to him, she didn't want to be one that planted the seed; and if it had occurred to him, well, she'd mention it then.

"There might be another up side to my stepping down," he casually mentioned and, once more, brought her attention back from the recesses of her mind.

"Oh?" she asked, still a little distracted.

"Well," he said, still casually, "I'm not your boss anymore."

The words were simple, their impact was not. She inhaled sharply and turned to lock her eyes with his. They stared at each other silently for what seemed like an eternity but in reality couldn't have been more than a few moments before she was able to think coherently enough to finally speak.

"No," she whispered. "You won't be the boss . . . my boss anymore."

"What do you think about that?" he asked, putting his fork down and setting his full attention on her.

"What do I think about it?" she repeated, trying to gain some time. It wasn't like she hadn't thought about it before; in fact, that had been the first thing that had come to mind when he'd told her about his decision to step down. But she'd pushed it to the side, preferring to focus on the other implications of his decision instead and there were more than a few of those.

She wasn't even sure why she'd avoided thinking about it, now; she supposed she'd been protecting herself by not letting her hopes get too high up. Which, thinking back on it, might have been rather pointless and just plain dumb because for one, her hopes could not possibly get any higher and for two, the man, who was the very definition of taciturn, was not only living with her and actually talking about his feelings but had also made several references about the fact that he too was in this for the long haul. Of course, the fact that all of those references had been oblique, subtle and indirect, made while they were talking about unrelated things might have had something to do with her insecurity.

And now that same man was waiting for her to speak and she had no idea what to say. She hadn't really thought he would confront her point blank about it but she should have known. Hotch was the kind of man that liked being direct and to the point; he liked knowing where things were going and how they were going to get there. He was probably the kind that liked to read the last page of a book first so that he could anticipate how the plot would develop and he was a stickler for rules – hadn't he come up with the rules to their cooking competition? Given all that, she should have expected that he would sooner or later want to speak plainly; this was probably the longest he'd ever been in a situation when the rules hadn't been clearly defined from the beginning.

"I think," she began to speak, though she wasn't sure just what she was going to say, "that you not being the boss is going to be weird." Not really what he was asking about, but true nonetheless.

"Is that all you think about it?" he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes a little.

"Well," she hedged. "What do _you_ think about it?" When in doubt, deflect, that should become her motto from now on. But really, it was only fair that he talked too; after all, he was the one that brought the subject up.

"What do I think?" he repeated; it seemed it was the night to say everything twice. He hesitated a little before deciding that if he wanted to confront this head on, he might as well man up. He couldn't very well ask her to when he was not willing to do it himself, could he? "I think," he finally said, "that my stepping down gives us a window of opportunity to act. If we both wanted to, that is. The FBI could not have anything to say about it as we would be acting well within the established parameters and set rules. They couldn't say anything even after Morgan steps down and I go back to being Unit Chief since there is more than one set of precedents for this particular situation."

Emily looked at him wide-eyed, amazed at how he could say so much without once mentioning what he was talking about. Yep, he was definitely a lawyer; only a lawyer could say so much without actually committing himself to anything. She wondered for a moment if they actually had a class in law school where they all went to learn how to talk like that; then, she wondered if it was possible to audit such a class, as that would be one extremely useful skill to have. There were more than a handful of good law schools in the area, maybe she'd check it out.

"While all that might be true," she nodded after a moment of thought, "the . . . window of opportunity you're referring to could be extremely small. There would probably be more than one person that would find this all extremely convenient and would not believe your version of events. And they'd be right, wouldn't they? I mean, this . . . particular situation wouldn't have started when you'd say it started."

"Well, that would depend," he informed her, "on how I explained events transpired. Given that no concrete steps have been taken to . . . formalize the situation, I'm confident I can explain things without lying. It really all boils down to how you present the information."

"I see," she said slowly. Had she really never before noticed how he could talk himself in and out every loophole within striking distance? They must also teach that in law school; it was probably a companion to the class where they taught them to talk a lot without saying anything. She'd see about signing up for that class too.

"Is that all you have to say about it?" he asked and she thought he sounded a little put off; as if he'd been expecting another reaction. Which, given the subject under discussion, he'd probably had been.

"No," she shook her head. "I think," she added, slowly, "I think that, regardless of how you word it, there are going to be people that won't believe you and that think this has been going on for a lot longer than it actually has. Some might even speculate that that's how I got assigned to the BAU."

"I wasn't the one that approved your transfer," he reminded her.

"I know," she nodded. "But I don't think that'll matter much to them. Even if the FBI can't formally reprimand us or separate us, there's going to be talk."

"Yes," he agreed. "Unfortunately, there's always going to be talk and you're going to bear the brunt of most of it. It's incredibly unfair and extremely hypocritical but that is the way these things go. The only way to prevent that is to stop this now – or to hide it for, pretty much, the rest of our time with the Bureau." He hesitated for a moment before he went on. "Personally, I don't like either of those options. I might be a private person that doesn't like to discuss my personal life but I don't think we're doing anything wrong; I refuse to sneak around like a pair of teenagers that have to hide from their parents. And I really don't like the idea of letting what other people think dictate how I live my life; I'm certainly not about to let what they say influence me enough that I let go of the one good thing to have happened to me in the last couple of years. But if you . . ."

"No," she denied quickly, letting the pleasure of hearing him say she was the one good thing to happen to him wash over her. "I don't like either of those options either. And I can deal with the talk, those that matter know that I got into the BAU on merit – well, maybe not so much on merit as on someone else's ambition . . ."

"You had all the qualifications," he interjected. "And anyway, you've more than earned your spot on the team since."

"Thanks," she smiled at him. "That means a lot." And coming from him, it really did. "And I think the team feels the same."

"They do," he quickly agreed.

"So, like I said those that matter know that I'm there on merit," she continued. "The rest . . . well, the rest can go hang themselves. I grew up an Ambassador's daughter; I had to develop a thick skin early on," it might have taken her longer than others and cost her sweat and blood, but she'd developed it. "Or I wouldn't have made it past puberty with my sanity intact. I won't let the jealousy and prejudice of others cost me the one good thing to happen to me in the last few years," she purposely used the same words as he to let him know they were on the same page.

"Good," he nodded and they shared a tender smile. A few moments later, he cleared his throat and said, "So, we agree? We won't hide and we'll use this period when I'm not the boss to establish our relationship." He actually said the word relationship! Emily had to resist the urge to look around to see if the sky was coming down. But since she was pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate such a facetious comment at that particular moment, resist it she did and instead, she answered him.

"Yes. But," she added. "We're not going to actually say anything about it, are we?"

"I think it would probably be better if we do," he replied, "instead of waiting to be called on it."

"I agree," she said. "I just think it would probably be better if we waited a bit. Maybe until after Foyet's caught? It's just," she added when he didn't say anything, "this is so new and I like the fact that we're going really slow and I would just like to keep it between us – away from the eyes of others and the pressure. I'm not saying we hide," she hastened to clarify when she saw in his eyes he was thinking that, "we'll just be discreet – which we're always going to be, anyway, but we don't say anything until you become the boss again and that becomes an issue once more. I mean, it's not like we have to say anything before that, right? With you being just another team member, there's no issue that we need to address with the higher ups."

"That's right," he nodded and thought about it for a moment. She was right; if they said anything now, it would be on everyone's mind, if not lips, and it would put an unwanted pressure on them and that was the last thing they needed. Their relationship was very new and they were going at a snails pace, something both of them liked, they didn't need to be under everyone's scrutiny – at least not yet; that would happen sooner or later but if they could postpone it until later, when the relationship was older and had been tested a little more, and when they would have proven they could be together and work together, that would be better. "Okay," he decided. "We'll wait until after Foyet is caught to say anything."

"Good."

"But," he said, "just so we're both clear: we _are_ doing this, right? You want to give this a try? I know we've sort of touched on the subject but . . ."

"Yes, we are doing this," she said firmly, reaching out and holding his hand. "I really want to give this a try. And we don't really have to say anything else about it – not right now. You're going through a lot right now, Aaron, this is probably not the best time to be making life altering decisions . . ."

"This isn't an impulse precipitated by depression or as a way to run away from it, Emily," he interrupted her to reassure her, "and you're not taking advantage of me," when she looked at him with wide, surprised eyes, he half smiled before he said, "I know you, Em. I know you're worried about all sorts of things right now. But you really don't have to; I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be or if I hadn't thought it through. No matter what else is going on or how bad it is, I wouldn't have taken such a big step without thinking about it and being sure."

"Okay," she said after looking deeply into his eyes and finding the certainty she was searching for. "Still, I like this going slow and getting to know each other as Emily and Aaron and not just Hotch and Prentiss."

"I like it too," he agreed.

"Good," she said again and smiled at him, squeezing the hand she still held. "And . . . you're okay with things . . . being platonic for a little longer, at least, aren't you?"

"Yes," he answered and his smile grew enough to show his dimples. "I'm good with that; not that I'm not looking forward to things not being platonic, but for now, I'm good. I like this going slow too."

"Good," she said for the third time. "Okay, well," she looked down at her plate, "we better finish eating before the food gets cold."

"Yeah," he nodded and with another squeeze of their fingers, they let go. "So, what's for dessert?" He asked and grinned at her. It was incredible how just being with her and talking about his day made everything so much better. He'd had a truly hard day and when he'd left his office, he'd been convinced nothing could make him feel better. He'd done what he'd had to but it hadn't been easy and he'd been prepared to feel like a failure for the rest of the night – and probably, week, month and however long it took to catch Foyet. But talking to Emily, while it might not have made things better, it definitely helped him put things in perspective and made him _feel_ better.

That was what had been missing in his relationship with Hailey, he'd never felt free to talk about the pressures and worries of his job. Whether it was because she didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to burden her or a combination thereof, it didn't really matter; in the end, he'd kept a huge part of his life away from her and their marriage. And that had probably contributed as much as anything else to its unraveling. Not that it mattered anymore; that was done. Hailey was the past and Emily was the present and, God willing, the future.

**A/N2: **I really had had no plans for they to be so open about where they stood yet - and yeah, okay so maybe they didn't come out and explicitly said much of anything still, they said more than what I had planned before I started to write it. But then, some fics are like that - sometimes the characters just sort of take over, you know? I hope you guys liked it and that it made sense and that it was still in character and in pace with canon. As a side note, I had a blast trying to have Hotch speak as a lawyer; being one myself, I can tell you that there is no class that teaches you to say a lot without saying much or to talk in circles and in and out loopholes - actually, thinking about it, the whole three years might be about teaching you to do just that! lol


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